


292 - Hungry Penguin & Pooh Bear

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Cute meet, Dad Van, F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 10:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15928361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: An original non-requested fic about: Living in the same apartment building as Van. Being pregnant. Those two things meaning you’re bound to meet.





	292 - Hungry Penguin & Pooh Bear

**Author's Note:**

> My best friend and housemate Kasey sent me this Reddit post - https://www.reddit.com/r/MadeMeSmile/comments/9bzxvc/a_penguins_successful_hunt/. We both thought it would make a good fic. Also, I am fucking with reality just a little bit because Van and Reader are going to see a film that is only released now but the fic is set in the very early days… Sorry but you’ll love it.

Mary and Bernie McCann raised their first and only son to believe he was capable of anything. Never proving that theory wrong, they had a lot of faith in him. Yet, when he said he was moving out to live in a cheap flat with his best friend and partner in crime, Larry Lau, they were struck with a sense of doubt. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust Larry; they absolutely did. That boy would follow Van to the very gates of hell, handing him a bottle of water and a towel for the sweat. It was more that neither Van nor Larry had ever really existed beyond the supervision of parents and tour managers.

It was this sly doubt that lead Mary and Bernie to the front door of the cheap flat on a Sunday afternoon. Van welcomed them with a laugh and a hug. Larry was over at his sister’s house for the night, but they weren’t to worry - Van could eat two servings of the roast and vegetable dinner his parents had brought ingredients for. Of course, there was thick gravy and Bernie’s homemade stuffing and Yorkshires hot out of the oven.

The McCanns sat down to eat at the second-hand table Van found on the side of the road. He’d thrifted four mismatched chairs from local stores and given it all a nice wipe down with some wet paper towel. Mary was about to ask if Van had met any neighbours yet, given how close all the flats were and how thin all the walls seemed to be. That certainly wasn’t a judgement call. She was immensely proud of her son and the place he was building for himself. It was genuine curiosity; she’d always been a bit of a nosy gossip. However, before Mary could ask, there was a small knock on the door.

Van told his parents he wasn’t expecting anyone. He’d get rid of them quickly so they’d not ruin the family dinner. He bounded to the door and swung it open without bothering to look through the small peep hole. Always found that a bit weird, he did.

When the door opened, you were standing in front of him. At seven and a half months pregnant, you were more than showing. Van’s eyes went straight to your belly. The nerves shaking around in you stopped you from noticing the small smile on his lips. Van loved babies. He noticed your hand at your side then, holding a small plate.

“Uh, hi,” he said slowly, his mother’s curiosity alight in him.

“Hi. Um. Sorry. This is… going to be a bit weird…” you started, your voice much more shy and small than you wanted it to be. “I could, um, smell your food… I’m getting all these cravings and stuff. And when I smell something, I just… I know this is weird but could I possibly just have… like, a tiny bit? I’m so sorry. I know-”

“Oh, yeah! Of course you can, love,” Van answered happily between little chuckles, holding his hand out for the plate.

As you gave it to him, you said, “I’m sorry. We don’t even know each other. I think you just moved in, yeah? I’m sorry,”

“It’s honestly not a problem. And yeah! I’m Van. It’s nice to meet ya,” he introduced with a warm smile that made you want to cry. That was probably the hormones though.

“I’m Y/N,”

“Y/N. Cool. Just hold on one second and I’ll fix you up. Did you want to come in?” he asked, beckoning with his free hand.

“Oh, no, no. It’s okay. Sorry,” you replied, shaking your head and taking a small step back.

Van nodded and didn’t press. That was something you were grateful for.

“Be right back,” he said, then dashed off.

The door was left ajar but you didn’t hear the conversation. Van explained to his parents what was happening and they laughed. He asked if the polite thing to do was to invite you in. “The poor girl’s probably all wrapped up in bed. Give her a second Yorkie and leave her be,” Mary told him. He nodded, assured, then returned to you.

Roast carrots had always been your favourite. You would never be able to thank him enough. And two Yorkshire puddings! As he handed the plate to you, your mouth began to water.

“Here you go, love. Plenty more if you wanna come back,”

“Oh, my gosh. No. Thank you so much. I’m sorry,”

“Nah, love. Don’t need to keep saying that. It’s all good. Can I like, help with anything else?” Van asked sincerely.

“No, thank you. Thank you so much, really,”

“Easy.”

With that, you smiled a goodbye and headed back to your flat. You were across the hall and one down from Van, and it was enough of a walk that your pregnant lady waddle was on full display. Caught up in your plate of food, looking down at it with a grin on your face, you didn’t notice Van watching you go.

“She good, mate?” Bernie asked as Van sat back down at the table.

“Yeah. She looked like a little cute penguin walking away. Like she caught her fish and now she’s going home,” Van replied, smiling fondly at the picture of you.

…

Before you were pregnant you were a little sceptical about the whole food craving thing… the wild mood swings thing… all of that. You thought maybe it was like a lot of experiences of women throughout history. Instead of the behaviour being simply accepted, it was pathologized. It was turned into A Thing that people could use to stereotype women. Alas, nope. Your own case study proved true enough evidence to change your mind. 

All day you had been moping around your flat, switching between ugly crying and angry pushing at whatever object was too close. Everywhere you went, you left fallen books, discarded hair ties, and knocked over chairs in your wake.

All you wanted was an apple pie specifically from McDonald’s and maybe a foot massage. Instead, you got someone knocking on the door.

For a second or two, you considered ignoring it. Anybody that you cared about knew they were to call before coming over. You hated surprises. So, you negotiated with yourself. Yes, you’d answer the door, but only after checking your reflection in the bathroom mirror for snot trails and puffy eyes. If the guest was still at the door when you found your way there, then good. If not, too bad, so sad.

The mirror reflected a version of yourself you’d not expected. You looked much more put together than you felt. Maybe it was that pregnancy glow people talk about. Maybe that wasn’t a myth either. Shrugging at the mystery, you waddled to the front door and opened it.

There stood your roast carrot hero, Van from across the hall and down one.

“Hey,” he said cheerily.

“Hi,” you replied. Like the last time you spoke, your voice was too soft. At least you weren’t psyching yourself up to ask for something weird this time. That role clearly belonged to the boy in front of you.

“Just, ah… comin’ to see how the food was?”

Van did not knock on your door simply to inquire about the standard of the combined cooking of he and his mother. The fact that his statement sounded like a question indicated that much to you.

“Think it probably saved my life,” you answered honestly.

Van laughed a proper laugh; his head tilted back and his mouth opened wide and everything. It made you smile a little, but you were still more grumpy than anything else.

“Cool, cool,” he said. He rocked from one foot to the other. You interpreted it as a nervous habit, but Van had never been able to sit or stand still. Movement didn’t mean much when generated by him. It was constant. The glancing behind you though… Now, that meant something. That meant he was looking for clues. Who did you live with? Was it the baby’s other parent? What was your story?

“Did you-” What you had planned on asking was if Van wanted anything else. Instead, the sentence had a mind of its own. “-want to come in? Cup of tea?”

Van’s face lit up and he nodded, taking a step closer. “That’d be lovely!”

Standing aside, you motioned for Van to come in. He didn’t need directions; the floorplan of his unit and yours were identical. So, you followed him to the small kitchen.

“Ah, sorry for the mess,” you said, overtaking him to get to the kettle first. You suspected Van was the type of person to immediately make himself at home in a new environment. The image of him searching through cupboards for mugs and smelling the milk wasn’t hard to conjure up.

Van snorted. “Love, you ain’t got nothing on my place. Don’t know how it got so bad so quick. Think with all our shit in boxes still that we won’t have anything to make a mess with,”

“Right… Well, ah, take a seat. You have milk or sugar?”

“Yeah, please. Just a dash of milk, thanks,” Van said as he sat at the kitchen table. His fingertips danced on top of it, tapping out a silent speedy tune. “So… How far along are yous?”

“Seven and a half. Can’t wait for her to come out already,”

“Her?! You know you’re havin’ a girl?” Van asked with the excitement more suited to a close friend than a pretty-much-stranger.

“Ah, not like, officially. Scientifically… or anything. It’s just my guess… or whatever,” you said awkwardly. Looking over at Van to gauge his reaction to that, you found him watching you with a smile on his face. “You like kids?”

Van nodded in a clear answer. “Yeah. I can’t wait to be a dad. Reckon out of all the things I am, like… a son and a friend and all that, the best thing I’ll be is a dad.”

The kettle boiled and while you poured the water, steeping the black tea and watching the colours swirl, you smiled to yourself. You had never met a guy that was… clucky, for lack of a better word. Van had a warmth when he spoke about fatherhood. It was palpable even in his short statement. However, it was in stark contrast to his appearance. He looked like an Arctic Monkeys roadie that had rolled out of bed at midday for the sole purpose of finding someone to share a joint with.

“You’re a bit young to be thinking about that, aren’t ya?” you asked, handing Van’s tea over and sitting in the chair next to him.

It was a dumb thing to say and you regretted it immediately. If Van had replied with the obvious, you really wouldn’t have blamed him. Although he didn’t know how old you were, you were presumably close to his age. And, you weren’t thinking about parenthood. Dreaming about it. You were preparing for it in a very real way. The big belly between you and Van was an obvious reminder of that. Yet, Van didn’t say the obvious. He just grinned and shrugged.

“Everyone says that. Says I should think about a real job before that.”

Van certainly did think about the obvious. He shocked himself when he was able to pretend he hadn’t. Not even his honest lips gave him away by twitching out a small smile. Instead, he was the gentleman Mary raised him to be and Bernie wished he was.

“A real job? The one you got now imaginary?”

“Honestly think so sometimes. I’m in a band, see. We’re gonna be famous and everything. Just got a record deal,” Van told you, trying to speak around the huge grin his mouth couldn’t stop pulling.

“No way! Really? Would I know ya?”

“Nah, nah. Not yet. But you will,”

“Should I be trying harder to make friends with you then? I think I got some biscuits in the cupboard; did you want me to get them out?” you said sarcastically.

Van laughed. “You’re a funny one, aren’t ya? And it’s funny you should say that, ‘bout making friends. I actually came to see if maybe you wanted-” But before he could continue you were trying to conceal a laugh by biting on your bottom lip. Van frowned. “What? What you making that face for?”

“I did wonder what you were here for. Didn’t think it was just to get a little review on ya cooking,”

“Oi! Don’t be laughing at me. I’m trying here!” Van exclaimed, using both his hands to tap his fingertips to his chest.

“Yeah, yeah. Trying to do what?”

Van paused and took a long, deliberate mouthful of tea. Maintaining eye contact, he invited you to the game. You stared back, accepting the offer. He smirked. He remembered the adorable hungry little penguin who knocked on his door. Although he could still see her in the way your hands rubbed your belly unconsciously, Van was still happy to find a little bite there too.

“Ask ya out,” Van finally said. As he spoke, he casually shrugged then sipped his tea again.

Van figured he had nothing to lose. There could only be two outcomes; you may have kicked him out of your flat. He’d be a little embarrassed but otherwise unscathed. Alternatively and ideally, Van could win the date. Innately optimistic, he was willing to take the bet, despite not thinking he was really too much of a catch. Van had already vowed to try his absolute best to be a good boyfriend, if he got that far without fucking it up.

“Ask me out?!” you squealed, despite yourself. Not sure what you were expecting, you were sure you weren’t expecting that. Van watched your cheeks go a little peachy. You felt the colour bloom hot. Staring competitions were all well and good, but explicit declarations of interest… That was another thing altogether.

“Yeah… I was thinking maybe we could go to the movies. You know, for the baby. 'Cause there’s that Winnie the Pooh movie out,”

“The baby? You mean the one that’s still growing… in my womb?”

“Yeah 'cause they can hear everything going on out here, can’t they? So you wanna make sure they’re listening to good music and hearing good stories, you know what I mean?” Van said, speaking quickly.

“And the Winnie the Pooh movie is a good story?” you asked him, still confused about what he was doing.

“Well… It’s got Sir Ewan McGregor in it, don’t it? He wouldn’t be puttin’ his good name to anything rubbish,”

“Ewan McGregor? Is he like, you’re favourite?”

“I’d say that was a fair statement, love. Think I might even fancy him a bit,” Van told you. The twinkle in his eye told you he was very much not taking the piss.

“So you’re really just using me and my unborn baby to go see a kid’s movie 'cause it’s got your boyfriend in it?”

“Uh… Alright, yeah, pretty much. And when I was little, me dad used to read Pooh Bear stories to me… Kinda real nostalgic for me, you know? And it would be a bit weird for a man of my age to just go see it by myself,” Van replied seriously, not acknowledging you were joking at all. You wondered if he had even realised.

Van picked up his tea, sipping at it while you took a moment to think. Your childhood was also one that featured the world of Christopher Robin and his animated animal friends. The trailers for the film had been on television, and you’d smiled each and every time.

“Do you a deal. You buy me an apple pie from McDonald’s and I’ll let ya use us for Winnie the Pooh related purposes,”

“Yes, love!” Van cheered, standing up and holding a hand out.

Looking up at him, you smiled at his enthusiasm. Taking his hand, you said, “Alright, calm down. I’m gonna need a sec to change and stuff. I don’t remember when I showered last,”

“Whatever you need. Do you need help with anythin’?” Van asked, going to follow you out of the room.

“Do I need help showering?” you asked back, looking over your shoulder at him.

Van stopped following immediately, then casually leaned against the doorframe like that was his plan the whole time. “I’ll just, ah, hold down the fort here then,”

“Good idea,” you laughed, nodding.

In your bedroom you took off your comfy home clothes, smelling each piece in an effort to decide if a shower was actually required. If it had been a real, official date, you would have definitely showered. Well, probably. Maybe. You decided you didn’t smell. It was that lucky in-between day between smelling clean and smelling bad, when the scent was neutral. And it wasn’t a real, official date, of course. But that still left the matter of what clothes to re-dress in.

Maternity clothes had definitely come a long way since the days you were stuck in your mother’s tummy. Not constricted to pink, frilly moo-moos, you put on a Jim Morrison shirt that arrived in the mail about twenty-six sizes too big. You used to wear it as a dress with fishnets and boots. These days, the fishnets had been replaced with high-waisted leggings, but the boots remained. They’d always been the most comfortable shoes you owned.

“Oh, hey! It’s Jimmy!” Van called when you found him in the lounge room. He was flicking through the shelves of CDs and vinyl, careful to ignore any books. “Got good taste in music,”

“Been snooping?”

“A little,” Van confirmed with a little smile and swing back and forth on his heels. “You ready?”

“Yep. Ready.”

…

In a McDonald’s booth, you ate your way through an apple pie. Van had only just started on his Big Mac when you were done, still unsatisfied. Crumpling up the thin cardboard box and flicking it across the table, you smiled when Van put his hand out to play goalie in your makeshift game of Fifa.

“Fuck!” he muttered to himself then. 

You didn’t know him well enough to hear how fake the exclamation sounded. He was betting on that too, knowing he was almost incapable of lying.

“What’s wrong?”

“Meant to order extra pickles,” Van said, frowning as he dug through each layer of the burger. “Reckon they’ll just gimme a cup of them? Like one of them little sundae lids full?” he asked you, looking up. “Do us a favour, love? Go ask them?”

“Go ask them if they would sell ya a cup of pickles?” you asked, making a face. “That’s like, super awkward,”

“Yeah. How about then…” Van started, getting his wallet from his pocket and pulling a ten out. “Go order something else, 'cause I ain’t convinced one pie is all you and ya baby need. And then just like, tack the pickle thing on the end.”

You were truly convinced Van wanted an excessive amount of pickles and was, once again, using you to achieve his goal. The McDonald’s staff would probably think you were going to eat the pickles yourself, citing your big baby tummy as reasoning. Regardless of what Van was doing, you were happy at the opportunity to buy more food.

“Fine,” you told him, taking the ten from the table and standing.

While you were ordering, Van congratulated himself on his excellent idea and execution of said idea. He thought you looked like you wanted another pie or two. Maybe you would have just gone for more anyway. After all, you were the hungry penguin that came knocking on his door. But, he could make it easier. Give you the segue.

“Wouldn’t let them see you eating them though,” you said as you sat back at the table, putting a small fries bag worth of pickles in front of Van. He watched you sit down with your second apple pie. And medium fries. “They had a little discussion about it and decided they’d give 'em to me 'cause I’m pregnant,”

“That happen a lot? Get away with stuff 'cause the baby?” Van asked.

You liked Van’s choice of words. He didn’t say you were pregnant, or there was a pregnancy occurring. You had a baby. There was a baby in attendance.

“Sometimes. You planning on milking us for more? Movie. Pickles. What’s next?”

Van laughed. “I don’t know, love. I’ll take anythin’ I can get.”

…

After McDonald’s, you and Van walked to the cinema. He stayed close by your side, brushing against you every now and then, making your arm hair stand on end.

Van was used to leading the conversation. It was a trait that would serve him well in the future, for interviews and award shows. Walking next to you, it was useful too. Introverted by nature and never that good at small talk, you weren’t exactly quizzing Van in an outgoing attempt to know him. You tended to pick up a lot about people in their body language and behaviour. Van was a talker though, so he went on and on and on.

As you arrived at the cinema and let Van buy the tickets, you thought maybe you should just put him out of his misery and tell him what he was probably dying to know. It wasn’t like you proactively didn’t talk about the baby’s father. Then again, Van was good and had manners, but he wasn’t overly polite or restrained; he was just as likely to ask outright once his curiosity peaked.

In the cinema seven, you watched Van slide down into his chair as much as his tall, lanky frame would allow for.

“Are you… hiding?” you asked him, confused.

“No,”

“What… are you doing then?”

“Just don’t wanna block anyone’s view,” Van mumbled, embarrassed by his own thoughtfulness. Bless his absolute fucking soul.

“We can sit near the back then?” you suggested, looking around the room. It was only just beginning to fill with parents and children. There was even an elderly couple that sat close to the exit. You had watched them slowly make their way in just after you and Van had arrived.

“Nah, don’t you wanna be near the door?” Van asked, looking up at you from his low viewpoint.

“Huh? Why would I wanna be near the door? You plan on makin’ a fucking move or something? Need a quick escape?”

Van grinned, then looked back at the blank cinema screen. If the room had been lit, you would have been able to see the freckles on Van’s cheeks change colour just a little as he blushed.

“My mum said that I used to bounce like I was on a trampoline. Needed to… go to the bathroom every ten minutes,” Van said, his pace of speech slower than usual.

You laughed and nodded. “Why do you think I didn’t get a Coke? Come on. We’ll sit in the back. Move,” you ordered, standing and poking at Van until he stood and lead the way up the stairs and to the second to back row.

Van had to bite his lip as he watched the families arrive in the cinema. The kids were all so fucking weird and hilarious and sweet and he wanted ten. He also didn’t want to seem weird, to them or you. It dawned on him all of a sudden that if he kept talking about children and babies, you might think he was into you for that specific reason. Like, maybe he had some weird pregnancy fetish.

When Van sat up suddenly, looking alarmed, you looked around for the catalyst of his panic.

“Are you okay?” you asked him. Van nodded, made an expression you couldn’t read, then tried to look casual. "You know, you’re a real bad liar. What’s wrong now?“ you asked. Usually, you’d not press, but there was something amusing about Van’s sudden awkwardness.

"Just really excited for this. Been looking forward to seein’ Sir Ewan,” he replied.

“Mmm… Sure…”

The screen came to life and parents hushed their children before you could make Van squirm any more.

Throughout the film, you snuck glances at Van, most especially whenever Ewan McGregor was on screen. Van’s face lit up, just like all the other people in the cinema that still had a childlike sense of wonder and beauty in them. Van. The elderly couple near the door. All of the children and some of the parents. You hoped you belonged in their league.

The families would take a long time to pack up their things and exit the cinema. Both you and Van knew this, and without speaking both agreed to make a fast escape as soon as the credits started to roll. He held the heavy soundproofing door open for you, grinning as you walked by.

“So? Live up to those big, big expectations?” you asked him, wrapping your arms around yourself. It had been late afternoon when Van rocked up at yours. While you’d been with Piglet, Tigger, and Eeyore the sky had darkened and the temperature had dropped.

Van was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, so with no jacket to offer you, he walked closer and put an arm around your shoulders. It was comforting to be brought into his warmth and softness without having to ask.

“Yes. Totally. It’s my new life goal to meet him. I mean, I got a lot of goals, but he’s right up there, you know what I mean?”

“What are the others?”

“Other what?” Van replies, watching the road for traffic.

“Life goals,”

“Oh… To make the band work. Make me dad proud. Buy mum a jacuzzi. Says the only reason she let me drop outta’ school was so she might get one. So I gotta do that. Uh… I want to meet Brandon Flowers… or Julian Casablancas. NO! Mike Skinner, from The Streets, you know? You know The Streets? I want to meet him. And, then I wanna be a really good husband. Like, the best. Even though I’ll be in the band, I’ll still be the best. And then the best dad in the whole world, like how mine was… I think that’s it,”

“Wow…” you said slowly, genuinely taken aback that he had thought it through so much. “You’ve got your shit sorted then,”

“Nah. Not really. Gotta make it happen,” Van said with a laugh. “What about you? Got any goals?”

It never occurred to Van that your soon-to-be-baby could have affected any goal making. Maybe she was a goal. Maybe she killed one or two. He didn’t even think about it.

You weren’t sure how to answer. Even before finding out you were pregnant, you weren’t entirely set on what you wanted to do. It became even harder to plan the future with a growing life inside your body. There was only one thing you were certain of, so you offered that to Van.

“My goal is… to be a good mum, I guess… I don’t really know what I… yeah, want to do. But I mean, she’s coming,” you said, rubbing your tummy.

You’d arrived at the car and instead of separating from you and getting into the driver’s seat as expected, Van stood listening to you. Naturally, you leaned back against the car and started to search for the baby’s feet. It was probably too early for that, but still.

“She was a surprise,” you continued. “And a lot of the things I kinda planned had to change. But that’s alright. 'Cause I’m excited for her,”

“Can I ask something? Don’t know if it’s rude or-” Van said.

You were grinning as soon as the words left his mouth. Interrupting, you asked, “Yeah. Is it about her dad?”

“You don’t have to tell me anythin’,”

“It’s okay,” you reassured him. Your voice had lowered. It was almost that whispering Van first heard asking for roast dinner. “He doesn’t want to know about her. We had a thing for like, a month. Thought we were careful. Well, I was. But… you know. 99 percent isn’t 100 percent. Anyway. When I found out, me and him weren’t even talking. We weren’t friends before or anything. He made it pretty clear that he doesn’t want to be a dad…”

“I’m sorry,” Van said. He meant it. You knew that.

“It’s okay. I mean, I figure that no dad is better than a dad that doesn’t want you,”

“Do you think that he’ll change his mind when she’s born? When he sees her?”

“Maybe… I try not to think about it. Obviously, I’ll tell him when she’s born. Give him that chance… but…” you answered, sentence fading into silence as you became momentarily lost in your thoughts.

“No, yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy or nothing. I just… I don’t know,”

“You just want to be a dad so you can’t imagine someone not wanting to be. I get it,” you said.

“Yeah. But I know that's… small minded or naïve or whatever,”

“Maybe. But it’s nice. It’s nice to be around someone that’s excited. Most of my friends and family and stuff are just worried for me. Keep asking me how I’m gonna cope being a single mum. If I’m going back to uni. What’s my plan for childcare. Nobody just… is really happy she exists.”

You’d not said that out loud before that point but it was true. It had been months of worry. The number of times anyone had sent you pictures of cute baby clothes or offered to go baby shopping could be counted on one hand. You had been doing an excellent job at not letting that upset you but once the truth had been spoken it could not be taken back and the emotional floodgates were open.

Van watched your neutral expression dissolve into sadness. First, your eyebrows pulled in. Then, your nose began to twitch like a bunny smelling danger on the wind. When your bottom lip started to shake, you sucked it in and bit down.

“I’m sorry,” Van whispered, stepping closer and pulling you into him. His arms wrapped around you tightly while you rested your head on his shoulder. With your arms pressed safely between you and him, you felt secure. “I know I don’t know yous well, but I am excited. I don’t want ya to think I just like ya 'cause of her though. 'Cause that would be weird. I like you because of you. But it’s also cool that you’ve got a little person in there… And maybe that’s your family’s job, you know what I mean? It’s their job to worry about you. But they’re missing out on the fun stuff, huh?” He was rambling, but he was hitting the nail on the head. You nodded. “Yeah. I can do the fun stuff. Be good practice for when I’m gonna be a dad. Help you pick out a pram and some of them cute tiny little shoes and stuff,”

“You’re gonna be a good dad,” you whispered.

“Yeah. I think so too… And you’re gonna be a good mum.”

**Author's Note:**

> Do Van and the hungry penguin get together? Do they go shopping for baby? Does he hold headphones to her tummy and start baby’s musical education early? Is Van a dad before he thought he’d be? Does she redefine what she thought 'dad’ meant? Or is this platonic friendship? Even cooler, is this platonic but Van is still baby’s dad? Idk, you tell me. This is where I wanted to finish telling their story. You can write the rest in your head as you want it to be. xo Rhi


End file.
